


My Lover's Eyes

by MrsSaxon



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: 7 years of foreplay, Age Difference, Blow Jobs, But especially by existing in the same movie together, Drinking, Fingering, First Time, Hand Job, I blame Mads Mikkelsen and Hugh Dancy for this fic, I have a degree in this shit, It's spelled TRISTRAM, M/M, Mainly by existing, One Shot, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, Scars, They brought this on themselves, Tristahad - Freeform, UST becoming RST, Very very RST, Virginity, a lot of finger fucking really, discussion of scars, eye fucking, fight me, taking of virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5312762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a truth universally accepted that a Dancy in denial must have a lecherous Mikkelsen counterpart. </p><p>This was the going assumption for this fic. So with that in mind, I present you with Tristahad in all its medieval infused glory and a lot, a lot of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Lover's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't read my tags, it's spelled TRISTRAM. I had to read Le Morte D'Arthur in its original Middle English translation and it's the bloody damn authority on Arthurian legend. And this movie was such an insult to mythology, I vowed to salvage as much dignity as I could in fic. So deal with it, you're just lucky I didn't attempt to write the whole thing in Middle English in petulant offense.

It was not much of a secret that Galahad had been known to put Tristram before duty, women, even alcohol. But it was even less of a secret that Tristram’s ideal wife was Galahad. Everyone seemed to be aware that they were smitten with each other, except for the two in question, particularly the guileless Galahad who sadly seemed to want to retain a façade of denial and believe that his feelings for Tristram were only brotherly. Tristram fortunately knew himself quite well and made no apologies for wanting to spend himself between Galahad’s comely and tender cheeks.

Returning from assignments was always a nightmare because the two were a double-act of innuendo where each of them was the straight man to the other one’s ridiculous flirtation. They managed to just barely keep it in their pants when they were facing imminent death, but they could hardly be expected not to want to celebrate when they didn’t end up dead.

The others groaned as the pair headed for the wine barrels, thinking their stolen looks and ogling were very subtle and unnoticed.

“That’s it, I can’t take it anymore, I’ve got to tell him,” Gawain said, meaning to tell Galahad that Tristram regularly rode behind him only so he could get the best shot of his fine buttocks in the saddle.

“Wait, wait,” Lancelot grabbed his arm, “Let them get drunk, in fact, make sure of it. It’s our last night as slaves, Tristram won’t leave without plucking that fruit,” he snickered.

Gawain sighed, but it wasn’t worth arguing with Lancelot about anything. Instead he stuck close to Galahad, encouraging him to drink excessively, even goading him into a dagger throwing competition. He glanced around and sure enough, Tristram was watching, a goblet of overflowing wine in one hand and his knife in the other. The way his eyes were glued to Galahad, his every movement, his glance, his expression, Gawain had a good feeling that tonight was definitely the night.

“C’mon Galahad,” Gawain nudged him, “Last round, loser buys the winner a drink!”

Galahad stumbled to his feet, giggling, “You’re on, even plastered I’m still a better shot than you.” He laughed, gripping Gawain’s shoulder for support.

“Ger’off, lemme make a clean throw of it at least,” Gawain grinned, lining up with the target. His throw was off but it hardly mattered; Tristram was edging closer. He groaned, “Alright, alright… not my best hand. Think you can do any better baby face?”

Galahad snorted, “Watch me.” Closing one eye, not letting go of his decanter of wine, apparently having forgotten he was still holding it, he stuck his tongue out as he focused on the target. By luck or genius, he managed to nick the bull’s eye.

“Aha! Pay up!” he beamed at Gawain but didn’t get to celebrate for long before he heard the distinct thud of a third knife hitting the target. He turned back and knew exactly who had thrown into his knife handle for only one person could.

“Tristram!” Galahad roared, whirling on the older knight, “Why do you always do that? Can’t you just let me have one thing to myself?”

Tristram grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief, “I would, if you could ever beat me. I believe you owe me a drink.” Tristram was well-known for being able to drink everyone else under the table and yet never showed signs of drunkenness himself.

Galahad pouted and stomped over to him, “Those were my terms with Gawain, you were not invited and you know it.” He swayed in place, but stubbornly remained where he stood, inches in front of Tristram’s face.

Tristram reached out to steady him and, upon not being shoved away, languidly curled his arm across Galahad’s shoulders, “Maybe I wanted to challenge the winner. Maybe I thought I was a better match for you than Gawain.” Tristram’s gaze traveled down Galahad’s smooth features to his pink lips. More interested in watching those than anything else currently, he reached up and gently toyed with Galahad’s beard.

Galahad blushed furiously and at last pushed Tristram away, “D’you think you could manage to challenge me by not insulting me then?” Looking away, still blushing, Galahad half-heartedly stormed out of the festive part of camp, out into the bracing night air away from firelight and safe paths.

Everyone studiously ignored Tristram immediately following him and struck up a lively, loud drinking song, the better to let them get on with whatever it was they were going to get on in privacy.

Galahad meandered through the wet grass, vaguely aiming for a tree some distance off to rest against. His jug of wine slipped from his hand unexpectedly and it took him a moment to notice. “Bugger…” he slurred, turning sharply and slipping in the marshy surroundings.

Tristram trotted towards him, “Galahad!” He grabbed him before he could completely topple over. Leaning on each other, Tristram pulled him until he was properly upright again.

“Thanks,” Galahad wheezed, feeling dizzy. The stars and moon were dancing behind Tristram’s head, their glimmer and shine were reflected in his eyes. Galahad watched, fascinated, thinking how beautiful and wild Tristram looked in the moonlight…

Before he knew what he was doing he’d pushed forward to kiss him. Tristram held him tight and kissed back, holding him so close he felt like he was on solid ground again. Galahad’s hands reached up and cupped Tristram’s face, kissing him so hard their teeth clacked together. “Ow…” he muttered and had to break, panting.

Tristram’s grip was still strong on his shoulders, preventing him from falling over. “That was…” Galahad looked at him, grinning breathlessly, before leaning over and suddenly wretching.

Tristram sighed, “Yep…” and he muttered something that sounded like a curse on whoever’s bright idea it was to get Galahad drunk. Gently he brushed Galahad’s curls away from his face, keeping them clean.

Galahad was dimly aware of being utterly humiliated to barf practically on his crush’s feet just after they kissed but was mostly too drunk to care. He could feel Tristram’s fingers running through his scalp, tentatively stroking his face, it felt so good, so soothing.

Eventually his stomach emptied and he could stand again. “Ohhh, my head,” Galahad groaned, putting a hand to the side of his skull to keep it from splitting wide open, “N-not sure I can walk…” he mumbled.

He could hear Tristram saying something but couldn’t distinguish it over the pounding in his temples. Next thing he knew, Tristram had an arm around his waist and was half-leading, half-dragging him to camp. Galahad sighed, reassured by Tristram’s firm grip and let his head loll over onto Tristram’s shoulder.

Tristram had envisioned better first encounters than this, but he’d settle for far worse if he got a willing and compliant Galahad out of it. He had had an inkling that Galahad had merely pretended not to like him to keep up appearances, but now he could be sure the boy was just as crazy about him. No one kissed someone they were indifferent to like _that_ , not even drunk.

Just before they reached camp again, Galahad fully passed out and his next breath was a loud snore. Tristram heaved him into his arms and made a point of passing their comrades to say, “Next time you try getting us together remember a closed door works just as well.” He looked chidingly at Lancelot and Gawain in particular before continuing down to his own quarters. Gawain had the good grace to look sheepish even if Lancelot did not.

 

-

 

In the morning, Lancelot tip-toed around to Tristram’s bed, anxious to see how the new lovers had made it through the night. As if he couldn’t guess. Pulling back the tent flaps and sneaking inside, Lancelot espied them in bed together. Galahad was snuggled up under Tristram’s chin, clinging to his middle like a warm blanket on a cold night. Tristram protectively embraced him. It was a very sweet image of the two, finally interlocked, unfortunately, not an image Lancelot could resist meddling with.

Being sure to watch where he stepped, Lancelot crept closer to the bedside, meaning to rouse them both with obnoxious noise, light, and morning cold. Before he could move to grab their covers though, he felt a sharp edge pressed against his thigh. Looking down, Tristram’s knife was pointing towards the delicate juncture between his thighs.

“Unless you’ve had all the children you want to have in this life, I suggest you rethink what you’re doing,” Tristram murmured. Lancelot looked back to his face, he hadn’t stirred a wink. His breathing hadn’t even changed.

With a regretful grumble under his breath, Lancelot backed out. Before he could close the tent flap again though, Tristram added, “And tell the others not to disturb us if they know what’s good for them.”

“And why should I have the privilege of playing messenger?” Lancelot muttered.

“You were the only one foolish enough to try something,” Tristram smirked, returning his knife silently to its sheath without disturbing a hair on Galahad’s head.

After that there was blissful, warm quiet with Tristram nearly slipping back into sleep by the time Galahad stirred.

“Nnnmmm… where’m I?” he tried raising his head but found it too painful and laid back down.

Tristram stroked his curls and patiently waited for Galahad to come around. The fact that Galahad didn’t start or recoil showed he at least remembered something.

Galahad opened his eyes again weakly and tried to turn towards Tristram, “Mmmf… eurgh… you smell of vomit.” Galahad made a face.

Tristram chuckled, “Then I smell of you. Or don’t you remember? Don’t tell me you forgot kissing me?” He pouted, running his fingers indulgently through Galahad’s soft auburn-lighted hair.

Galahad didn’t even try to deny it. “No, no, that I remember,” he made himself meet Tristram’s eyes with effort, but smiling, pleased with this turn of events, “but I don’t remember how I got here.”

“That’s probably because you passed out and I had to carry you,” Tristram nodded.

“Oh no…” Galahad groaned into Tristram’s chest, “You didn’t? I’m sorry… ugh.” The full humiliation of last night’s romantic disaster came sweeping over him.

Tristram smiled; this one was so cute, so preciously innocent, not like anyone else in the company. “Shhh, it’s alright. Gawain and Lancelot were trying to get us drunk, well, mostly you drunk, to make sure we ended up together. Besides, you didn’t vomit directly on me, so I call that a success,” he grinned.

“They what?!” Galahad tried for furious but ended up with a rather weary version of annoyed, “So I’m betrayed on all sides. Perfect.”

Tristram nudged him, pulling him up off his chest to face him, “C’mon, surely you don’t begrudge me carrying you to my bed when it’s what we both wanted? You would have walked here yourself if you could.” Before Galahad could fall back on old habits of protesting, he kissed him sweetly, stroking his beard.

Galahad winced, “You really want to kiss me before I’ve had a chance to put something else in my mouth?” He was still blushing when they broke.

Tristram shook his head, squirming under the covers to lean over Galahad, “I’ve waited this long and I’ve kissed people I liked far less than I like you. Kissing you is like…” Ever a man to prefer actions to words, he gave up on description and just kissed him again, long and hard, until he could feel Galahad go limp under him, feel his body give up the ghost of resistance and completely flood with pleasure.

When they finally broke their lips were bruised and sore. Galahad panted, unconscious of how loud he was, staring unfocused up at the ceiling. “F-feels… like that…” he finished the sentence unsteadily.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Tristram grunted but was by now far more preoccupied with tugging on Galahad’s shirt and kissing every bit of skin he could see.

Galahad squirmed, tickled by Tristram’s beard, “It scratches,” he complained weakly, trying to hide a giggle.

Tristram raised an eyebrow, looking up at him but not fully raising his head from Galahad’s tender skin, “You want me to stop?” He brushed his lips over Galahad’s bicep. How he managed to keep his skin so soft was a mystery but Tristram didn’t need the answer to appreciate its consequence.

Galahad gulped and shook his head vigorously, “No, no… no, don’t stop.”

Tristram grinned, “Good,” and quickly pulled Galahad’s shirt up over his head so he could lay a wet, messy kiss on his abdomen.

Galahad squealed in surprise and kicked at the covers, “Tristram!” He struggled with his shirt, eventually flinging it off.

Tristram had to stop, he was laughing too hard, “For someone who was so worried about what others thought, you are so loud.” He leaned up and kissed him affectionately, running a hand over his stomach, stroking soothingly to help him relax.

Galahad looked mortified and squeaked, “I’m not trying to be loud! If you would stop surprising me…”

Tristram rolled his eyes and kissed him again, hard, to make him shut up. He tangled his free hand into his hair, holding him in place while he kept stroking his abdomen, peeling back his waist band, feeling how heated his skin was, how quick his pulse beat under his hand.

Galahad made an aborted sound into Tristram’s mouth and fidgeted, but could not struggle very much. Surrendering, he clung to Tristram’s shirt and began to feel for his pecs and nipples underneath, groping, tugging, getting a feel for the hard, trained muscles. Tristram gave a shuddering sigh when Galahad found his nipples and started teasing them through the fabric.

Before Tristram himself could start squirming in frustration, he very slowly parted their lips and clamped a hand over Galahad’s mouth, sealing the heat inside. “You’ll wake up the whole camp and I don’t think you want that,” he murmured, mouth still open and panting, “If you can’t be quiet, there are things we can do to keep your mouth occupied instead.” Without even checking Galahad’s reaction, he sealed his mouth over Galahad’s clavicle, sucking and drooling hungrily.

At the same time, he very gently slid two fingers into Galahad’s mouth, giving him something to suck to prevent him from crying out. Galahad’s tongue instinctively pressed against the pads of his fingers, getting a good taste. A small whine escaped through his nose, an utterly delightful sound if Tristram was perfectly honest, but he got the picture and started sucking gently.

Tristram buried a grunt in Galahad’s neck; the lad was insupportably delectable. He hadn’t realized how much he would need to restrain himself when he finally got Galahad in his arms. The desire to fuck him in every conceivable position was overwhelming.

Breathing hard, he lifted himself up, sliding on top of Galahad and straddling him. Galahad didn’t even blink; his eyes had a glazed, half-lidded look of debauchery that Tristram had only seen in his dreams. He grinned widely and gently turned Galahad’s head to the side to admire the love bite he’d left on his neck. Tristram had to swallow hard looking at the inflamed, near purple bruise on Galahad’s lily white skin.

He stroked his cheek admiringly, “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured thoughtlessly. Only when Galahad’s eyes widened, turning to look at him, did he realize what he’d said. Tristram flushed and cleared his throat gruffly, focusing on arranging Galahad just so.

Galahad, however, took initiative and pulled Tristram’s fingers out of his mouth and kissed them before reaching up to kiss their owner too. He threaded his fingers into Tristram’s mess of braids and greying locks and pulled him down, down, continuing to kiss him until he could feel Tristram’s embarrassment disappear, the way he had done for him earlier.

Tristram melted like butter on a hot day for Galahad. In any other context, he would be a little incensed at being so easily overpowered by the delicate and innocent whelp, but under the circumstances, he couldn’t quite muster the pride for it. Forgetting why he’d felt embarrassed in the first place, he ground his erection against the hardening bulge in Galahad’s pants, pressing their bodies seamlessly together.

Galahad squeaked and shivered, tugging at Tristram’s shirt anxiously.

Tristram ran his hands down Galahad’s arms and spread them, making him let go, pushing his arms up above his head before breaking. “Does my shirt itch too?” he asked coyly.

Galahad nodded, eyes focused on Tristram’s.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Tristram smirked and removed his shirt, pleased with the approving lip quirk from Galahad. Tristram kissed him again quickly, sawing his hips back and forth against Galahad’s, encouraging him to rock with him gently, feel the rhythm.

Galahad reached up and clung to Tristram for a moment, his body thrumming with desire in a way it never had before. His legs spread, cradling Tristram against his pelvis. He hissed, surprised at how intense the sensation was as their bodies drew closer together. He closed his eyes and kissed Tristram hungrily for a sense of weight again, a solid point to tether himself to.

Eagerly, his hands roamed Tristram’s back, feeling many scars, some of which Galahad had seen him get. He had never felt them like this though, never run his fingers over smooth skin, over a bump or ridge of harder tissue, and then beyond to a smooth plane again. He pressed his palm flat against his back, feeling how his skin had shored itself up, tightened, and healed. Galahad broke from his lips to whisper in his ear, “You’re beautiful.”

Tristram grabbed his shoulders to force him back against the bed, sucking on his lips and tongue with such violent passion, Galahad was momentarily stunned. He dug his fingers into Tristram’s back and arched up to him, squeezing their cocks together and hissing with pleasure.

Tristram regretfully stopped devouring Galahad’s mouth to catch his breath. Pushing his hair back, he swallowed, “Galahad…” He hesitated, he was going to say more, but he was distracted by the pink tinge that ran from Galahad’s hairline down to his neck and collar and the faint glow of sweat polishing his skin to look like new leather. Forgetting he was going to say something, he tugged down Galahad’s pants, pulling them off his legs. Knowing Galahad was going to say something if he didn’t move quickly, he pressed one hand over his mouth and wrapped the other around his cock.

“Shhh…” he looked up at Galahad again and was pleased to see arousal and surprise were the dominant emotions in his eyes, “don’t cry out. Not here. Bite me if you have to.” He instructed quietly, gently stroking Galahad’s cock. He shifted until he was between Galahad’s legs again, squeezing his hard erection gently as he did so. Tristram smiled, admiring it, his veins stood out against the thin skin, he could almost see each pulse through them.

He began stroking Galahad’s cock in a steady rhythm, enjoying how hot and heavy his cock felt in his hand. It was satisfying proof that Galahad wanted him just as much as Tristram did in return. Of their own accord, his other hand pressed fingers into Galahad’s mouth and began pushing in and out at the same rhythm he was stroking him.

Galahad’s eyes rolled back at the mutual stimulation and he made that whining sound through his nose again. Tristram looked up and bit his lip, worried he might start making unnecessary noise now himself. His fingers plunging into the soft, warm wetness of Galahad’s mouth were making his aching cock twitch desperately. But it wouldn’t be fair to force himself on Galahad just like that for his first time and he knew it. He was determined he would not use the boy ill, he mattered too much.

Tristram left off stroking him to nudge his thighs further apart and tugged at the covers, propping up his pelvis in a particular way. Galahad made a disgruntled, pouty sound at the sudden lack of attention on his cock and Tristram glanced up at his endearing, sour glare and beamed fondly. It didn’t take much for the boy to lose his embarrassment and switch over to greedy whore and Tristram couldn’t be more delighted.

“Just hitch your pretty legs up for me and trust me for a little longer,” Tristram murmured, bending his knees and splaying his legs until Galahad’s rosy, puckered entrance was in view. Tristram hummed pleasantly to himself and thumbed the wrinkled skin.

Galahad stiffened all over and his eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpricks in shock before dilating in wide, black saucers. Tristram did it again, rubbing more, and Galahad almost choked on his fingers, arching abruptly.

“Shh, shh,” Tristram reached up to soothe him, stroking his cheek, “not so hard yet, patience, or you might strain something you want to use later.” He winked, leering unapologetically. Galahad rewarded his lechery with a handsome flush. His responses were doing nothing for Tristram’s sense of morality. If there was a god who hated sex and pleasure, it wasn’t a god Tristram wanted to believe in.

Tristram continued rubbing, feeling the heated flesh relax and loosen, unfurling slightly. Galahad’s eyes fluttered, a deep moan humming up through his throat and exiting as a wheeze, a guttural sigh. Tristram watched his face, his eyes rolling in unfocused pleasure, his cheeks flushed and starting to shine with sweat. He made sure Galahad was in love with this already before bending his head, dipping between his legs, and lapping one long stroke over that reddened muscle.

Galahad’s mouth flew open in a gasp, but to his credit, he did not cry out. His hands clenched in the bed sheets, fists tight and tenacious, pulling so hard a little stuffing of Tristram’s mattress fell out. Tristram paused while Galahad realigned his notions of enjoyment, his hot, wet breaths inches away from that perfect ass he’d thought of longingly for so many years now. If they were anywhere else, he’d make Galahad beg, he’d make him scream. And Galahad, with his musical, unblemished voice, he would scream and sob so beautifully. He could make the heavens ring and Tristram would be bursting to give him everything he asked for. But he couldn’t indulge in that particular fantasy right now.

Tristram gently massaged his inner thigh, waiting for Galahad’s lips to close around his fingers once again. After a few more wet pants, those soft lips came back to him and Tristram took another lick. He could feel Galahad tense and swore his leg hair stood up like goose-flesh for a moment. He might have chuckled, except he was far too focused on continuing to lick and massage this most sensitive part of Galahad’s body.

Soon, Galahad was itching to move, his feet running against the sheets, shifting and writhing against Tristram’s tongue. Tristram could feel his muscles relaxing, letting his tongue begin to probe. Good, this was exactly what he wanted, exactly how he wanted Galahad to feel their first time together. The boy would see spots when he came, that was a promise.

Unable to resist Galahad’s grinding against his mouth, Tristram sealed his mouth around his pucker and sucked. Galahad bucked, a high-pitched, desperate whine of “Tristram! Oh God!” escaping his lips before he could clap a hand over his mouth again. Tristram shuddered down to his core and had to still his body like granite to keep from coming right there, still in his pants. Galahad arching and keening his name like that, it was more than any mortal man could bear.

His lips popped off his arse with a wet smack, the sudden breath of air making Galahad shiver. Tristram crawled up over him again, eyes black as night, and Galahad shivered again, his heart beating like a war drum, his skin mere paper over it. He was sure Tristram could feel it and if he pressed his hand over his chest, his handprint would be forged on his heart forever. His head buzzed as Tristram regarded him, straddling his stomach, his erection drawing his pants tight across him. Galahad just watched him watching him, waiting to give Tristram anything he asked for because, oh god, the way he looked right now, raw power and desire, heat and touch; Galahad felt tears pricking his eyes at how badly he wanted him.

Tenderly, Tristram cupped his jaw and slowly forced his mouth open, watching his lips stretch in a wide, wet O. Tristram swallowed, but his mouth hung open slightly as he panted. Slowly this time, he once again slid his fingers into that gorgeous mouth and rumbled, “Lick them well, don’t stop ‘til I tell you.” Tristram needed them good and slick for what he had in mind and the idea of lubing Galahad up with his own saliva was too debauching to resist.

His eyes lidded as he watched his fingers slide slowly in and out of Galahad’s open mouth, watched his fingers press against his tongue, slide into the shadows of his throat and back, slicker and slicker each time. He let one sound escape him, half whine, half groan, all desperate longing.

All he could think about was watching Galahad’s mouth on his cock, sliding exactly like this, slow and slick. How many times had he thought about his cock disappearing into that perfect, self-righteous mouth as he stroked himself off? He closed his eyes, hips arching and faintly grinding against Galahad’s chest. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself, this was too good. His cock brushed over and over against Galahad’s hard chest, so faintly, he would come instantly with any greater stimulation. But this was enough, this was more than enough. Tristram rolled his head back slowly, eyes closed in ecstasy, a soft grunt coming out as he exhaled. Yes, this was divine, this was-!

He snapped his head up, thighs clenching around Galahad’s chest as he felt Galahad’s curious touch on his cock. Tristram’s eyes were wide with panic, almost shattering apart under his touch, but he met Galahad’s burning eyes, their infinite want and desire, and his heart fell to dust, realizing the boy just wanted to give him back all the pleasure he felt too.

Even so, he couldn’t let his shy fingers continue trying to learn his cock, it was too much. That was not the plan; he would not, on any account, come before Galahad. “D-Don’t,” he choked out, shaking with restraint as he laid a hand on Galahad’s and gently brushed him off his erection. He hissed, as if he were in pain. To be frank, his frustration was almost reaching painful levels, but if he could take an arrow in the ribs and keep fighting he could certainly avoid coming all over his beautiful Galahad before getting the boy off.

“N-Not yet,” Tristram gasped, struggling to speak and explain to him why he couldn’t do that yet, “You- you first,” he panted, still shaking. But he managed a trembling smile for him, concerned Galahad might get the wrong impression from his rejection. Galahad did look sadly put out, he had been so eager to learn and to share, Tristram made a point of remembering that and giving Galahad a chance to explore very soon indeed. But to console him, he withdrew his hot slick fingers and leaned down to kiss him tenderly. Distracting him with his mouth, his wet fingers reached down to rub and prod at Galahad’s entrance again.

Galahad instantly understood why Tristram had had him lick them so well and a shudder rippled through him. His legs spread eagerly beneath Tristram, rolling his hips gently against the tips of his fingers, begging for more friction against his sensitive skin.

“Greedy boy,” Tristram growled hot in his ear, slipping a fingertip just inside as he spoke, “this is why you can’t have me yet, you have no patience.” He chuckled, grinning as he leaned back to see Galahad’s offended pout. Tristram put a finger to his lips though and Galahad glared, rolling his eyes. He might not be able to complain now, but he’d give Tristram what for later, oh he certainly would.

Tristram kept his fingers working on Galahad’s sphincter, rubbing and massaging eagerly, tickling the wrinkles swollen with blood now. Galahad hissed a giggle as he panted, “It tickles.” He couldn’t resist grinning widely at Tristram who was too pleased to hush his mouth.

“Perhaps you like being tickled after all,” Tristram responded, sliding down his body again and wrapping his other hand around Galahad’s eager, straining cock. Galahad lunged at the sudden touch, the muscles of his thigh standing out with the strain of it and mutually causing Tristram’s fingers to slip further inside him than he intended. Tristram winced preemptively, fingers squeezed to the bone by Galahad’s too tight muscles and he looked up apologetically as he gingerly slid them out again.

Galahad quickly learned it was very easy to be too eager as he felt Tristram’s nails accidently drag against the tender walls inside him. He winced hard as Tristram’s fingers left him with a small pop. Tristram laid soft, faint kisses up and down his inner thighs to make up for the discomfort. That was exactly why he was not going to fuck Galahad this morning, he was way too excited and Galahad was way too new, there was no way on earth it would be any good for him. No, his plan was much better than that.

He breathed deeply as Galahad relaxed. Tentatively, he slid his fingers around Galahad’s cock and the lad didn’t jump this time. Tristram grinned to himself and licked his lips, admiring the thick, hot erection. A clear drop of pre-come had just formed over his slit, beautiful and lascivious. Tristram took a moment to acknowledge the fact that no one else had ever gotten to appreciate Galahad in this state of arousal. No one had seen, or smelt, or tasted this and the heady thought drove him to distraction, engulfing Galahad’s head with drooling lips.

Galahad jerked, fisting his hands into Tristram’s hair. “Oh… God…” he moaned just audibly, voice choked with tension. Tristram growled in delight, sucking and rolling his tongue over his head. He just couldn’t resist any longer, he was going to make his beautiful boy come like this.

Over the wet sounds of sucking, Tristram could hear Galahad’s fevered breaths, hitching and panting, trying so hard to be quiet. If he could have looked up he knew he’d see Galahad’s mouth open and askew, his eyes lidded and glazed, the pleasure rolling over him in increasing waves. It was a sight not to be missed, but he had his work to do and planned to have many occasions to see Galahad just like this. Many, many occasions.

Tristram continued to let his fingers fumble at Galahad’s entrance, teasing him with just enough stimulation. He used his fingertips as one pad, rubbing over and over in a circular motion, pressing and slipping inside just enough for him to delight in the stretch but not feel pain. Unfortunately the friction was starting to feel too dry. He paused to reach his fingers back into his mouth, not leaving Galahad’s cock for an instant, and retrieved a long, lewd strand of spit, letting Galahad watch as the wet, sticky trail hung from his fingers all the way down to his arse where he smeared and coated him thoroughly.

“Hnngh… oh, oh God…” Galahad whispered, his hands scrabbling down to Tristram’s shoulders and clawing at them. Tristram hummed softly and closed his eyes. He focused on the persistent rolling of his tongue over the head of Galahad’s cock and squeezing and stroking his foreskin into his mouth, his free hand tight on his base to help him. Quickly, he picked up the pace, driving Galahad to frenzy.

Galahad’s breath was coming louder and faster than ever and his arse clenched, thrusting his hips weakly with desperation, rolling with Tristram’s fingers and tongue. “Tris- tram…” he whined brokenly, squeezing hard at his strong shoulders as his hot mouth tortured and teased his cock.

Tristram felt a dangerously strong roll of pleasure shake his body. Fingers still slick, he slid them suddenly from Galahad’s anus up his perineum to under his balls, stroking a long, wet path across that tense skin. Galahad half-shrieked before biting down on his own fist as he came, spurting heavily into Tristram’s mouth. Tristram took it well, stroking and squeezing him through it, helping him ride his orgasm so he wouldn’t be left wanting when it was over. It tasted horrendous, given what Galahad had been eating last night, but it couldn’t be helped. He swallowed to make room for the next spurt until Galahad was wrung dry.

The boy flopped limp against the bed, splayed, sweaty, and wholly sated. Tristram watched him, a pleased and exhausted smirk on his own face, and reluctantly stood up to readjust himself, his steps awkward and uncomfortable given the profound tent in his pants. He stroked Galahad’s soft, fuzzy cheek, drawing his attention back to him as he let down his own trousers, embarrassingly sticky on the inside.

Galahad rolled towards him, gaze hazy for a minute before realizing what Tristram was showing him. His vision cleared almost instantly, pupils dilating with desire upon seeing Tristram’s throbbing hard cock, curved and dark and beautiful. Galahad reached for it curiously, then looked up at Tristram, remembering being denied earlier.

He didn’t have to ask, Tristram nodded quickly before he could, breathing hard and shuddering in the open air. “Please,” he whispered as encouragement, pulling Galahad’s hand closer, leading him to his straining, sticky erection. Galahad breathed reverently over it, scooting closer. His fingers traced the outline shyly, feather-light, drawing a trembling hiss from Tristram. Galahad looked up and found Tristram’s head tilted back, eyes squeezed close, and Galahad knew it would be cruel to tease him like this.

Putting his curiosity to one side for the moment, he fitted Tristram’s cock into his hand, cradling him against his palm and began pumping. It didn’t feel unlike stroking himself, but it was from an entirely alien direction. Tristram seized up after just a few strokes, grabbing the bed for stability and coming hard with a loud snarl, feral and unintelligible. Galahad gasped despite himself, privately thrilled to feel Tristram’s sticky come landing on his hand, his wrist, even a stray bit crossing his lips.

Tristram’s legs felt like jelly and as soon as Galahad released him, he all but collapsed to the floor.

“Tristram!” Galahad reached out to him, carefully tugging at his shoulders, wary of getting Tristram all messy too. Tristram panted hard, the concave of his belly puffing out as he recovered, forehead pressed against the bed. “Th-thanks…” he murmured, having no idea what else to say now. He hadn’t really gotten beyond fucking Galahad until he cried in his fantasies, this happily ever after part was new to him.

Galahad ran his clean hand threw his hair, encouraging Tristram to come back to reality. “My pleasure… literally,” Galahad smirked. Tristram pulled his head up at that to cock his head wryly, squinting at him.

“Still the smug, self-righteous baby face of the company then, eh?” Tristram teased, hauling himself back onto the mattress and tugging the sheets back over their naked bodies.

“Would you want me if I didn’t irritate you night and day?” Galahad beamed at him, snuggling close.

Tristram snorted and couldn’t find it in his heart to argue. He just kept smiling at it all. In fact, he might never have smiled like this before in his life.

Galahad, oblivious to Tristram’s happy thoughts, took an experimental lick over his lips to clean them of come and cringed, “Ugh! Come tastes terrible,” he groaned, tilting his head back to look at Tristram, “And you swallowed mine? Why?”

Tristram quirked an eyebrow, “I didn’t want you to feel insulted. Glad you know how bad it tastes, I feel I deserve a reward for my fortitude now,” he leered at his treasure.

Galahad pouted and shoved at him, rubbing the remaining come off on him, “That was your own fault, I owe you nothing.” He stuck his tongue out.

“Is that an insult?” Tristram whispered, pulling Galahad hard against him, squeezing him tight against his not quite satisfied body. He watched Galahad’s eyes dilate as he tried to hide an excited smile, not fast enough. “I feel I’ve been challenged,” he growled low, curling a finger under Galahad’s chin, a possessive and greedy gleam in his eye.

Galahad shook his head resolutely, “You couldn’t take me, old man,” he muttered unapologetically, even as he wrapped his arms around Tristram, insistent on holding onto him.

They both grinned at each other then, utterly in love. If a world existed outside the other's eyes, they didn't know it and didn't need it. Love was enough for them.


End file.
